


Another place, another time

by irisdouglasiana



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/M, daniel sousa: not on the party planning committee, good ol' post-season 1 peggysous mutual pining, hugh jones: creep, jack thompson: micromanager, peggy carter: cheesecake connoisseur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:40:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6620080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisdouglasiana/pseuds/irisdouglasiana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SSR Christmas parties are legendary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another place, another time

It takes Jack some time to get used to sitting in Chief Dooley’s chair, but once he does, he enjoys it immensely. Despite the successful end of the Stark case, it’s been a difficult year for the SSR and it’s not exactly the way he envisioned getting this promotion. Still, an opportunity is an opportunity. He hires a handful of new agents to replace the ones they lost, makes some organizational changes here and there, listens to the complaints, and sits in on more meetings than he can stand. Life goes on.

One freezing December day after he’s sent Marge out to pick up the lunch orders (he doesn’t make her do it all that often, just when she riles him), he calls Sousa into his office. Sousa takes a seat across from him, a wary expression on his face.

“So I had a call the other day from Washington,” Jack begins. “You heard about the new office they’re opening in Los Angeles? They’re looking for experienced staff to get things up and running. Wanted recommendations for a new chief. I told them Daniel Sousa, and nobody else.”

Whatever Sousa was expecting to hear, it wasn’t this. “You said _what_?”

“Oh. Well, if you don’t want it, that’s fine. I’ll come up with another name.”

“Wait, wait. This had better not be some sort of joke, Jack. You recommended me? Why?”

Jack leans back in his chair and spreads his hands. “You’re one of my top agents. You had a major role in solving the Stark case. You’ve got experience, you’ve got good instincts, and you’ve put in the work. Besides, you’d like to be chief, wouldn’t you?” He knows perfectly well Sousa believes he never deserved to take over Dooley’s job—if Sousa had his way, he’d probably put Carter in charge, god forbid.

The change in Sousa’s expression tells Jack he’s right. “You trying to get rid of me?” he asks lightly.

“Come on. We’ve had our differences, but I wouldn’t recommend anybody I thought would embarrass me. So try not to do that. Anyway, expect a call in the next few days from the top.”

Sousa still looks shocked. “All right. Thanks, Jack. I’ll consider it.” He pushes his chair back from the desk and grabs his crutch.

“One more thing, Sousa,” Jack says. “What’s going on with you and Carter?”

Sousa pauses. He looks ready to dive across the desk and strangle Jack for asking. Instead, he forces a smile. “Nothing. Anything else?”

Rejection, then. Not that Jack’s surprised. If he was feeling more malicious, he’d press Sousa further. He shrugs and lets it go. “Last question for you. What are your feelings about the Christmas party this year?”

Sousa sighs. “We’ve lost four agents this year, and Chief Dooley. You really want to throw a party?”

“That’s what I thought you would say. I need to keep up morale, Danny.” That, and Jack would never pass up an opportunity to network or attend a good party.

Sousa gets up. “Please don’t ask me to be on the party planning committee.”

Jack can’t resist a final dig. “Good god, no. I want this to be a _fun_ party.”

* * *

SSR Christmas parties are legendary. There are two parts: the first is the classy, formal party with the wives, the government and industry bigwigs, the fancy appetizers and desserts, and the good champagne. Then the wives and bigwigs go home and it’s time for the agents-only after party with enough booze to fill a pool and various other forms of debauchery, depending on which agent was the organizer that particular year. Last year it was Krzeminski, and when word got back to Chief Dooley, certain after party activities were subsequently banned.

Jack’s taking a hands-off approach to the after party—it’s been a rough year; let the agents have their fun—but when it comes to the formal party, he feels the need to be more involved. Important people will be there and they need to know Jack Thompson if they don’t already. He edits the guest list himself, reserves the venue, works with the committee on the dessert menu, and argues over the number of bottles of wine and champagne they need.

For some reason, various committee members keep coming to Daniel to complain. (“Chief has been riding our asses for the past three days over the vanilla and chocolate mousse,” one tells him. “Please make it stop.”) He’s not really sure what they expect him to do, for one, and at any rate the main things weighing on his mind right now are his career and Peggy Carter. He did get the call from Washington, as Jack said, and he told them he would get back to them in a few days.

Daniel has every reason to say yes, so he’s not sure why he’s still hesitating. This is the chance he’s been waiting for, and an opportunity like this might not come again. Isn’t this exactly what he wants? A chance to be respected and prove his worth?

Besides, warm weather sounds awfully nice. He slipped on the ice a few days ago in front of the SSR building, and suddenly it felt like all of New York City was staring at him, aghast at the sight of a veteran with a crutch sprawled on the ground. It would have been embarrassing once upon a time, but this is far more humiliating. The only saving grace is that none of his coworkers saw it happen.

And then there’s Peggy. Leaving New York means leaving her behind too. He’s not sure where they stand anymore now that the Stark case is over. Maybe Daniel had been too hasty to ask her out. Maybe she wasn’t ready, or maybe she was never interested in the first place. He doesn’t believe what Krzeminski said to him (sure, Daniel’s not Captain America, but neither was Krzeminski), but some nights when he’s undressing and getting ready for bed, his insecurities start creeping back in and he thinks, _give it up_. No point in pining over what will never be.

His final consideration actually has little to do with the job itself and more to do with the timing. It’s been nearly two years to the day he was hit. Last year, on the first anniversary, Daniel was a wreck. Stayed home from work for the first and only time. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t leave his room, couldn’t talk to anybody. This year isn’t as bad and he’s able to function in the days leading up to the second anniversary, at least on the outside. Still, Bastogne is constantly on his mind. He can’t shake it. Maybe this job offer is what he needs to move on with his life.  

Back when he was recovering in the hospital and was finally well enough to start corresponding, he received a very long letter from his father. He keeps it on the table next to his bed and he rereads the last sentence often. _There is no going backwards, only forwards._

He takes the job.

* * *

Peggy’s main motive for coming to the Christmas party is the dessert table. For all the things she doesn’t like about Jack Thompson, she does have to admit he has excellent taste. The chocolate mousse is heavenly and the cheesecake is even better.

Other than that, the party is a bit stuffy for her liking. She doesn’t know her colleagues’ wives and girlfriends very well, and she doesn’t have much to say to the politicians and wealthy capitalists. She had thought about bringing along a friend, but Angie had rehearsals, and Howard Stark and Edwin Jarvis were certainly not coming, given their rocky history with the SSR.

She even considered asking Daniel to be her date, and then kept coming up with excuses to not ask. _He probably already has a date_ , _we’ll never hear the end of it at the office_ , _maybe he’s got other plans for that night_. Peggy won’t think twice about taking on an opponent twice her size or hurtling headlong into vast Soviet conspiracies; there’s no reason why she should be shy about this.

But she didn’t ask, so dessert is her consolation. Across the room, Daniel appears to be having a very long conversation with Thompson. Peggy wonders if he’s planning to skip out on the after party. Maybe they could go for a drink instead.

She doesn’t notice Hugh Jones sidling up to her until it’s too late, and suddenly he’s all but cornered her between the wall and dessert table.

“I remember you,” he says a little overeagerly, thrusting out his hand. “Agent…Carter, isn’t it? You assisted with the refinery explosion investigation.”

“Mr. Jones.” She smiles as politely as she can, and shakes his hand. He squeezes it and holds on for a little too long. Peggy immediately starts planning her escape route.

“You know, Agent, I never got a first name from you. Miss…?”

She thinks he looks like a toad when he smiles, except that seems unkind to toads. “Peggy Carter,” she tells him reluctantly.

“Peggy, then.” Hugh Jones takes a step even closer, almost pushing her up against the wall. He reeks of cologne and sweat. “I’d love to see more SSR agents of your caliber. I was _very_ impressed by your work.”

“Just doing my job, Mr. Jones,” Peggy says, hunting for her exit. At this close range, she could step on his toes, or smear the rest of her cheesecake on his expensive shirt (though what a waste!). “Now it was very nice to meet you again, but I have to go—”

“What’s the hurry, sweetheart? I’d love to get to know you a little better and find out what your next big plans are for the SSR.” That’s when he grabs her ass, and also when Peggy’s thoughts go from escape to straight up murder.

“Excuse me? Mr. Jones?” Daniel says, tapping him on the shoulder. When he turns around, Daniel practically inserts himself (crutch and all) between Peggy and Jones, forcing Jones to step back while Peggy slips out. “Agent Daniel Sousa. I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Jones shakes his hand, looking more than slightly disappointed. Peggy notices he doesn’t try squeezing Daniel’s hand. “No, I don’t think we have. Where’d you serve, son?”

Daniel’s smile grows rather fixed. “Europe,” he answers, clearly not interested in volunteering further information.

“You may not realize it, Mr. Jones,” Peggy steps in, “but Agent Sousa also worked extensively on the Stark case. He did some very good work, I might add.”

“Oh. Well, that’s fantastic,” Jones says, and the conversation slides to an awkward halt.

Peggy’s nearly ready to bolt when Jack Thompson joins them. He claps Daniel on the shoulder. “Mr. Jones, I see you’ve met Agent Sousa here—or should I say, Chief Sousa. He’s just accepted a position at the new Los Angeles SSR office.”

“Chief?” Peggy asks sharply. Daniel looks away.

“That’s right, Carter. Our boy is off to sunnier pastures,” Thompson says. “What, he didn’t tell you?”

“I—no—congratulations. Chief Sousa,” she manages to say.

“Thank you,” Daniel says quietly, still not quite meeting her eyes.

Thompson clears his throat. “You’ll actually be joining Mr. Jones out west—I hear you’re moving there as well?”

“Yes, in a month. We’re working to expand our west coast operations. Miss Carter, I don’t suppose you’d consider a move to Los Angeles? I’d be happy to find a position for you at Roxxon. I’m sure you have many talents.”

“I like the east coast,” Peggy says firmly, and simultaneously steps on his foot while knocking the wine out of Thompson’s hand and splashing it onto Jones. Jones yelps in pain and swears, staring at his ruined shirt. Daniel looks like he’s trying hard not to laugh.

“Oh, I’m so sorry; I don’t know how I can be so clumsy!” Peggy apologizes. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a trip to the ladies’ room. A pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Jones.”

* * *

Peggy takes her time in the restroom washing her face and wonders why Daniel hadn’t told her. Of course he would take a job like that; she can’t think of anybody more deserving. Like her, he’s been systematically undervalued at the SSR, and now he has a chance to shine. She’s happy for him. She dries off her face and looks at herself in the mirror, preparing herself to go back out and offer congratulations.

Daniel’s taken up her former position near the dessert table. She’s pleased to notice Hugh Jones giving her a wide berth as she makes her way back to the desserts.

“I recommend the cheesecake,” she says lightly. “Or the chocolate mousse. Or the fruit tarts. Oh, and the tiramisu, though it’s got a little too much rum for my tastes.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Peggy,” Daniel says. “I wasn’t sure how.”

“I think it’s really wonderful, Daniel. You’ll be an excellent chief. I’ll be cheering you on from New York.”

“Thanks, Peg. That means a lot to me.” It seems like he has something more to say, but then he changes the subject. “You’re right; the cheesecake is very good. Also, I think you’ll be fortunate if Thompson can talk Hugh Jones down from slamming you with a lawsuit. He’ll be limping around for days.”

“Oh. That. I did have the situation completely under control,” Peggy answers.

“I know you did. I hope you don’t mind that I stepped in.”

“No, not at all.” There’s a moment of awkward silence between them. “Are you staying for the after party?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Daniel says. “Last year I ended up cleaning somebody’s vomit off the bathroom floor. I’ll leave that job to somebody else this time.”

“I’m not going either. No girls allowed, you know.” Peggy hesitates. They could ditch the party right now, brave the cold, and find a nice warm bar somewhere. Celebrate Daniel’s promotion properly. And…then what? What would be the point of starting something if he’s only going to leave in a month or two anyway?

“I’m going to go sit outside for a bit,” Daniel says, casting a look around the hall. “Join me?”

“Of course.” The venue for the party this year is the ballroom of a fancy hotel. They find a small alcove down the hall to sit in. Everything has been decorated in green and red and gold for Christmas, and the effect is lovely.

After they’ve been sitting for a little while, Daniel remarks offhandedly, “Today’s an anniversary for me, of sorts. I was hit on this day, two years ago.”

“I’m sorry, Daniel.” There’s not much more for Peggy to say. She’s got her own anniversaries to keep; her own bad memories. She waits patiently for him to continue, but he stays silent, looking off into the distance.

After a few minutes, he laughs. “At least we’re alive.”

“Yes. And here we are.”

Neither of them speak for a long time after that. There’s no need to. Finally, Daniel gets up. “Thanks, Peggy.”

“For what?”

“For a lot of things. Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As he walks away, Peggy has the urge to tell him _wait_ , _don’t go_. But she holds back. He has his own life to live, and she has hers. In another place, another time, maybe it would be different. But this is what they have right now and it will have to be enough.

* * *

_In another place, another time, Peggy says, “Hello…Chief?” and turns Daniel’s world upside down again. In another place, another time, they sing and dance the night away. In another place, another time, new beginnings are always possible, and each one is better than what came before it._


End file.
